Untitled so far
by Kathryn0505
Summary: Set after WitW/PitH. Yes, there are a million of these stories, but I want to. After Booth's "return," he and Brennan aren't getting along so well. Will they be able to fix their relationship? Of course! But you should read to find out what happens
1. Chapter 1

**I'll probably be working on this for a while. Please review! Any reviews are welcome and appreciated! =] Enjoy!**

* * *

Sweets sat in his office, staring at the two people sitting across from him. It had been an interesting session, to say the least. To any one else they may have appeared to be getting along, but Sweets knew better. They were bickering more aggressively than normal when they walked in, and had been making snide comments about each other the entire time. Not to mention, Agent Booth hadn't touched Dr. Brennan for the entire forty minutes they'd been sitting there. Sweets didn't think he realized how often he normally touched her, making him even more concerned that something was wrong; something had obviously affected his subconscious need to invade her space, and that went deep.

He decided it was time to pry a little bit. After all, it's not like they ever volunteered any information. "Doctor Brennan?"

"Yes?" she frowned.

"Do you have a problem with Agent Booth that you would like to address?" He noticed that she looked at Booth quickly and then looked the other way, returning her gaze to Sweets.

"No, why do you ask? You can't possibly know that from just sitting across from us."

Booth let out a deep sigh, of which Brennan took notice. "What, Booth?"

Sweets turned to look at Booth as well, noticing that he looked especially uncomfortable. Granted, he never looked comfortable during their sessions, but he looked decidedly more… deflated.

"Bones got us lost today. In the car. On purpose," he added, with some anger still evident. Sweets was less disturbed by what he said than he was by the fact that he had decided to share at all. He and Brennan were normally a quiet pair, and usually unreasonable defensive of the other. Not today, apparently.

"I did not get us lost, Booth!" Brennan defended herself. "I told you the directions to the house very clearly."

"Yeah, you clearly told me the wrong directions," Booth retorted.

"Why would I do that? That would be a waste of time."

"Don't logic me, Bones. I know you wanted to make me mad." Their voices were getting increasingly louder, and Sweets felt like he was watching a tennis match.

"Again, why would I want to do that? You're not pleasant when you're angry."

"Yeah?" he challenged.

"Yeah, you're like this!" she snapped back.

"I wouldn't be like this if you hadn't sabotaged us!"

"Sabotaged? I have more valuable things to do with my time than have us drive around in enormous circles."

"I was not driving in circles, and I have valuable things to do, too!" Booth looked ready to storm out or punch something, so Sweets decided that maybe it was best to intervene.

"Guys?" he ventured. They just continued to glare at each other. "Guys?" he asked again, and waited for them to look at him. Satisfied, he continued. "I've noticed for the last several sessions that you are not functioning as you used to. I think that this tension has less to do with getting lost than it does with some deeper issues. Why don't you guys think about those issues until our next session this Thursday?"

"Can we go?" Booth gritted out.

"Absolutely. See you Thursday."

Booth and Brennan got up at the same time, but Booth didn't even wait for Brennan before he left. Brennan walked out after, decidedly calmer and less angry, but looking more upset. When she shut the door behind her, Sweets laid his notepad down on the desk next to him, letting out a deep sigh.

Oh, yeah. Something was definitely wrong with those two. And he was going to figure out what it was.


	2. Chapter 2

Brennan unlocked her apartment door and pushed her way in, pausing for a moment to lean against the door. Things were definitely not going well between the two of them, and she didn't know why.

It had all started when he'd returned from the dead after their latest case. It had been the two worst weeks of her life, and then poof! He was back. She didn't think her brain had had time to process everything yet.

She made her way into her apartment and briefly contemplated ordering something. But deciding she would rather cook something to take her mind off of Booth, she went about her kitchen gathering ingredients.

She really just didn't know what was going on. How could she miss him so much, and then be fighting with him all the time? It didn't make sense. She should be happy that he was back. She should be overjoyed that she didn't have to live in the Hell that had become her life during those two weeks.

But she wasn't happy. She felt nearly as depressed as she had then. And then with Booth fighting with her, she didn't know what to do. The entire experience had brought up too many questions that she didn't want to answer.

Why were those two weeks so horrible? Why couldn't she compartmentalize? Is it because she cared for Booth more than she did for anyone else who had passed? Why were they fighting now? How did they stop? What was he thinking? Why didn't he tell her that he was alive? Did he think she wouldn't miss him? Why wasn't she feeling happy? Why was she still upset? There were too many variables to consider, and they were beginning to give her a headache.

She yelped as she cut herself with the knife she was chopping onions with. A tear made it's way down her cheek, and she swiped it away only to be met with more.

"Stop it, it's only a cut," she told herself. But she couldn't stop, and she put her head in her hands and leaned against the counter, blood seeping into the onions.

* * *

Booth knew that something was seriously wrong between the two of them. But just what was wrong he couldn't put his finger on.

Well, that wasn't quite true. He knew why he was mad, he just didn't know why she was. After all, he'd apologized a hundred times over for her not being informed of his being alive, but they were still fighting.

If anything, he should be the angrier of the two. He'd seen her there at his funeral. He'd assumed her lack of tears was because she knew he was alive, but she hadn't known. So why the hell wasn't she upset? Did he mean anything to her at all?

He punched the wall of his apartment, not hard enough to break through the drywall but hard enough to hurt. Frustrated, he went to get a beer out of the kitchen and wondered what they were going to do. Maybe the best thing to do would be to talk to her. Yeah, like that would work. Getting her to talk was harder than pulling teeth.

But what if things never got resolved? They owed it to themselves to try. So he put his beer down on the table and grabbed his keys, ready to go confront her.


End file.
